


Curse

by LightningFB1



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst and Feels, Cursed Fareeha, F/F, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating will probably change cause I'm trash, Shapeshifting, Witch Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 21:27:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12802722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningFB1/pseuds/LightningFB1
Summary: She’s high, higher than she’s ever been. The funny thing about raptors is they never expect a strike from above. Her stalker isn’t too far, she can do it before the spell is over for the day, before the Sun goes down and her body decides gravity isn’t that much fun to defy.





	Curse

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I couldn't stop myself from writing this, it's been on my head for days and I've changed the plot so many times I don't even know what I want to do with it anymore. Kinda. I do know, I just have to decide, there are three possible endings right now. 
> 
> Anyways! Typos and errors of the kind are probably all over the place because I've read this so many times I must be skipping those by now. I hope you like this, as always, comments and constructive criticism is highly appreciated. 
> 
> <3

**Seven**

It’s her first night alone, the sobs keep clawing their way up her throat no matter how many times she’s told herself she needs to be strong.

Angela is seven years old. Three months ago she was celebrating her birthday with her parents. Her mother had nudged her to accept the gift the woman at the bakery offered, her cheeks were flushed a soft pink as she thanked her. “You’re too shy, schnügeli,” her father would say, but the smile on his face would lessen the sting of his words, “there’s no reason to be shy, you could have the world if you dared to ask for it,” and then he’d kiss the back of her hands, too tiny compared to the ones holding them.

That same woman had stared in silence while the mob demanded her parents to handle her, that woman and the rest of the town had wanted her gone. Dead. But her parents had refused; her father had fought until his last breath. Her mother had nudged her just like three months ago, this time with broken pleas, “Run away, Angela,” her mother had told her, “run and never look back.”

The same small hands, once held and kissed by the most loving parents on Earth, were now fisted around golden bangs. Outside, the storm was getting nastier and the cold wind was almost numbing, and yet not enough. Numbness would have been better than this.

Angela succumbed to exhaustion at some point after sunrise. Hidden but not safe, she wrapped her arms around herself and slept a restless sleep.

 

…

 

Her father is leaving.

It feels like the world is about to end and she can’t stop the tears. Fareeha rubs angrily at her face with her sleeve to make them go away. She’s young, but she won’t let her mother know of much she’s hurting. Even when she can’t understand the reasons why this is happening, she knows Ana and Sam are hurting too. In their own way.

Her dad leaves the next morning.

Fareeha lets him hug her, lets him promise he’ll write, lets him reassure her that he’ll visit her.

When the door closes at his back, Fareeha’s eyes search for Ana’s. Her mother looks as stoic as ever, but Fareeha doesn’t buy it. She thinks it doesn’t make her any less strong to hug her mother’s thighs and nuzzle against her stomach, a watery smile on her lips.

“We’re gonna be fine, mama.”

 

**Thirteen**

 

“Witchcraft!”

“It’s in her blood!”

“Get her!”

The voices fade but the pungent scent of fear still very present, a catalyst to a chain reaction Angela knows all too well. Instinctual, flight or fight reaction, except it’s nothing just as simple. Raw energy burns at her fingertips and morphs into the liquid fire she tamed long ago, in a forsaken land once full of chatter and laughter.

“Go hide,” The baritone of her father’s voice reaches her ears, not like the drowning voices from before. This one is clear, so is the pain she can see in her mother’s green eyes. The woman nods her head and wraps her arms around her lithe form, a protective embrace Angela hasn’t known ever since. Angela sees her, from the corner of her eye. It’s her birthday, she’s turning thirteen today, and the woman from the bakery is there among the crowd with a present for her.

Somewhere deep inside her mind another voice roars like thunder. Pained, tortured even, had Angela not been already in the verge of tears she would have broken at the sound of it, at the pleas behind the broken sobs. It’s her own voice she hears, “wake up,” it says. “Please, wake up.”

 

…

 

A gentle finger traces a line from her forehead to the tip of her nose. Fareeha gives a lazy smile and nestles further in the mess of blankets and furs that is her bed. It must be early in the morning; sunlight is filtering through the windows. Her mother laughs when Fareeha groans and buries her face deeper into the pillow.

“You need to eat your breakfast, habibti,” Ana’s words get more distant, the weight at her side is gone and so is the calming caress. “I’ll be gone on a scouting mission in an hour.”

 “I’ll be right there…”

Fareeha wants to tell Ana about her plans. Unbeknown to her mother, she’s been training for months now and her body is sore and bruised. Fareeha has made up her mind, she’s going to make it official in a few years, and it’s about time she breaks the news to her mother.

Ana has always been her hero, the one who fights and stays even when things get complicated. Fareeha wants to be a hero too, to her people and to her mother. She wants to be there and protect those who can’t fight back. There are enough threats out there for her to make a name for herself. It doesn’t hurt that she’ll be around to have her mother’s back if it comes down to it.

Tonight during dinner, she decides. Mornings are a terrible thing; she’s never been a morning person. “It’s way too early for that conversation…”

 

**Eighteen**

 

Red creeps its way up the dark sky on the horizon. Angela rubs weary eyes, yawning and groaning right after as waves of energy sooth her muscles. Her empty stomach was complains, but scouting is always priority. Other human beings must be avoided, for safety, both hers and theirs.

Silence reigns, not single sound to be heard. It’s just the way she likes it. The few scattered trees surrounding the valley are the only witnesses to her transformation. Blood is rushing inside her veins, singing in her ears as the energy flows through her, shaping her.

This is favorite form to take. Nothing compares to the freedom Angela feels with the entire world down below, nothing makes her feel safer than being able to see a potential threat long before they get anywhere close to her chosen shelter for the day. This time, it’s a hollow tree pretty high on the mountainside, and even when she’s confident not many will dare to come around during the cold months, during spring she can’t get too comfortable. Not here, not anywhere.

Just like that, gone is the young woman, nothing left behind. It’s easy to believe she wasn’t there to start with, maybe a trick of the light, maybe a simple hallucination. A white feathered falcon stretches its wings before taking flight.

 

…

 

In this wicked world, children pay for the sins of their parents.

Fareeha is eighteen and reckless. Her country and her king have accepted her as part of the defensive forces and despite the blood in her hands, no one has been able to get close enough to hurt her yet. Fareeha feels immortal and she’s encouraged to think nothing can touch her. Her name is whispered among the ranks with a respect only earned through victory and bloodshed, and she’s proud of herself for this. She’s no longer tied to the giant shadow of her mother.

Her mother, who had refused to accept her choice of being part of the military.

Her mother, who hadn’t been there to watch her take her vows.

Her mother, who had once been the most important person in her life, her reference.

Her mother, who had chosen the fight over her own safety, over her family more than once.

Her mother, who has been buried today, slain by the enemy.

A witch, of all things.

Fareeha makes an oath today. The chance to make amends is gone with her mother’s laughter, with the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, but the chance to take revenge is there and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t take it.

 

**Twenty**

 

The gyrfalcon lands softly on one of the higher branches, keen eyes scanning the area. One of the many things to do on daily basis, a routine of sorts, but it has kept her alive so far. There’s a storm coming, she knows this much. Even if the dark clouds at the West weren’t this dark, she would know. Her feathers are charged with static and the scent of ozone reaches her nostrils.

Angela likes the way the air gets colder, ruffled feathers standing on end and making her look fluffy. It’s going to get worse before it gets better and this has kept her warm during the harshest of winters. For years, Angela has learned to survive in the wild, to listen to the voice in her head that’s somehow connected to the trees, the earth, the animals around. She can feel the link as something physical, the air sings for her, the water bends at her will, the spark and fire are the fastest to come to her aid if she as much as think about it. Nature is bonded to Angela, all of it, and she’s learned to reach for that bond and see what’s in nature’s plans.

Right now, the storm is coming and finding shelter is paramount. There’s an oak not too far from here with several holes in its trunk, she remembers. The raptor takes a couple steps and tilts its head before spreading long wings.

Angela can see it perfectly from here, can see the knots in the wood, can hear the scratches against the bark. A small rodent, maybe. Dinner, her brain provides. It’s been long since she gave in to the instinct when she’s taken this form and the idea of eating mice doesn’t make her stomach churn like it once did.

 

…

 

The curse is horrid; the words feel like scalding hot metal pressed to her skin. Her bones shake and shrink and break and burn along with it. Fareeha wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but the pain is blinding and the sounds aren’t coming out.

The moon casts its pale light over the skin of her enemy, a sickening color covered by sickening marks, ink embedded in the form of words she doesn’t recognize. You can’t bleed a corpse, she thinks as her sword falls with a clatter from her hands. A smirk curves the witch’s lips as her eyes take on Fareeha’s shuddering form.

Fareeha has learnt today, she’s not untouchable, she can lose and she can break. She can die. She’s as fragile as a newborn compared to this witch. Her mother wouldn’t have fallen to a weak enemy and she’s made a terrible mistake.

Fareeha will pay for that mistake with her life, just not in the same way her mother has.

 

**Twenty-one**

 

Her chest is heaving with labored breaths as Angela sits back against the rough bark of an old willow tree. The nightmare is gone but its vestiges are still wracking her entire body with shudders. Tears brim her eyes and her hands won’t stop shaking. A small flame dances along the tips of her fingers, almost cheerfully. This night is no different from the one before, or the one before that, but the routine of it hasn’t made it any easier over the last thirteen years. The fire lapping at her mother’s ankles burns bright whenever her eyelids flutter closed, the wisps of burgundy reaching towards her hiding spot from beneath her father’s limp body are tattooed in the back of her brain, each tendril stretching to the sound of her mother’s cries.

Time has done nothing to tamper the vividness of her memories; distance and solitude have been just as helpful. There’s only peace in the nature around her, the soft hoots and the rustle of leaves in the wind. Angela lets the fresh breeze wash over her flushed face, fingertips pressing together and snuffing the playful flame out.

 

…

 

It’s winter and there’s snow just about anywhere. Not a speck of earth is uncovered and only a few hints of green pine needles put some color to the landscape surrounding her shelter. The raptor nuzzles a sharpened beak under its right wing, the pointy tip scratching softly. A sigh later, eyelids flutter closed and the creature falls asleep, ignoring the enraged wind outside.

 

**Twenty-two**

 

Angela’s attention is stolen by the intricate pattern a fish the size of her talon is drawing on the murky bottom, raising clouds of sediment in its wake. The lake is frozen but there’s still life within it. It’s frozen but it can nurse the creatures that depend on its existence, against all odds, defying nature itself. Angela thinks, maybe, there’s still hope for her.

 

…

 

Someone has been following her for days.

Fareeha’s sight is highly enhanced during day time, but she has yet to catch a glimpse of whoever is at her heels. Talons would be more accurate.

At first, she hadn’t paid much attention; Fareeha is certain she can outrun almost anything. To the day, nothing has been able to match her speed. At night, she’s not exactly vulnerable. While she can’t carry a weapon on herself, Fareeha has made sure to train every day since the curse, keeping her human form at top shape. But whoever is playing this little game with her doesn’t want to show up.

It must be human, Fareeha thinks, because if it was a creature it would have jumped her long ago. It’s making her uneasy as the days go by and this persecutor remains hidden from her eyes, but hot on her trail.

 

**Twenty-seven – Twenty-two**

_“Not human,”_ Angela’s mind supplies, even if she can’t vocalize the thought aloud like this. _“Not an animal, either,”_ the fact is both terrifying and alluring. It’s new, it’s different. Much like she would do with the flames licking her fingers after a bad nightmare, she forces herself to snuffle the hope fighting to stay alive inside her chest. It’s trying to take root around her heart and Angela can’t have that.

The gyrfalcon stays put, silent and poised for the attack. A peregrine falcon soars through the air at full speed, a light golden shade tinting its feathers, the dusk sky reflected on the lighter ones. Its decent is sharp and practiced. The white raptor can’t take her eyes off of it, the sharp talons dig into the flesh of its prey and then it’s flying away.

Angela’s heart skips a beat and she forces herself to remain hidden in the shadows. There’s unusual beauty to the bird’s movements, she thinks for a moment the sky has been put up there for it to slice it with its wings.

Entranced, the falcon’s eyes track the route the other bird follows. There’s magic in the air and Angela can feel it, can feel its call. Hard as she tries, Angela can’t resist it, and she finds herself reaching for the settling sun after the peregrine.

 

…

 

She’s high, higher than she’s ever been. The funny thing about raptors is they never expect a strike from above. Her stalker isn’t too far, she can do it before the spell is over for the day, before the Sun goes down and her body decides gravity isn’t that much fun to defy.

Her wings fold, her lithe body angles and she’s diving. Fareeha can see the markings on the gyrfalcon’s neck, the small white feathers on its back ruffled by the wind. So high, up here, the wind is stronger and the currents are treacherous. Blue eyes snap in the direction of the noise and lock on Fareeha’s, the tips of long wings turning ever so slightly and making her miss the target. It’s a narrow dodge, but it’s more than enough.

Fareeha doesn’t have much time, there’s barely any sunlight left. The gyrfalcon blinks as the peregrine takes an impossibly sharp turn to get the higher ground once more.

Angela can swear she sees a smirk on the peregrine’s eyes.

It dives again, but this time she’s ready. Truth is; she’s been following this creature for days. She’s seen what she is, has her suspicions on _who_ she is. Angela knows it won’t be able to do this for much longer. The peregrine is faster, but she’s noticed it’s not as in touch with its instincts as she is. There’s a powerful influence of the human mind on its movements while Angela has learned to let the animal lead and the magic speak for itself. She’s no one’s prey, not anymore.

 

…

 

“A mock dive is quite the compliment among falcons,” the voice at her back startles her. Fareeha was sure she’d been able to lose her, but it seems like she had no such luck. Those eyes, she’d recognize anywhere. Her mind is running with possibilities, was this woman cursed as she was? Was she a threat? Should she attack… again? Her body is aching all over from shifting and she needs a minute to recover, so stalling looks like the best option she has right now.

“It wasn’t a _mock dive_.”

“Someone did this to you,” it’s not a question, Fareeha grits her teeth. Of course someone did this to her, why would she ask such a stupid question? “How long has it been?”

“Years,” that’s as much as she’s willing to give anyways. Her fingers curl into a fist and release, the pain slowly subsiding to a more manageable ache as suspicious eyes take in the clothes the other woman is wearing. Compared to her own, the linen ones she barely managed to throw on herself before her stalker’s arrival, those look way too clean and new. Fancy, even. Fareeha vocalizes the thought before taking a second to think if it’s proper, “Are you someone’s pet?”

The woman stares and Fareeha watches as emotions play with her expressions; surprise giving way to disbelief, disbelief turning into anger and anger getting fueled by indignation. “I’m not a pet! Why would you—who do you think you are? You can’t even hold the shift through the night, you’re the weakest wielder I’ve ever seen!”

It shouldn’t have been funny at all, this is a serious situation. Fareeha could very well wind up dead if she doesn’t play her cards well. And here she is, trying and partially failing at not chuckling at the enraged expression on this stranger’s face.

“I’m not weak,” Fareeha shook her head before tilting it and taking a step forward. It had been years since she’d been able to talk to another person… well, kind of, bird person? “That’s how the curse works. The witch gave me the nights so I wouldn’t forget what it felt to be human. Those were her words.”

The witch. Angela tries not to physically flinch at the term.

“That’s awful… A wielder did this to you?”, she asks before thinking through the words.

“Yes, a _witch_ ,” she spits the word like it burns on her tongue, “who else would be able to pull off something like this?” Fareeha counters with a sneer, vaguely looking down at her own body. All hints of mockery from before are gone and Angela wants nothing more than to shift and flee. Nothing good will come from this, nothing good will ever come from someone who is afraid of her kind. It has happened before, when she was a toddler, and she hasn’t been able to forget the outcome. Yet, the pull is strong, the bond is brightening, nature wants balance and this woman is perturbing it.

“I’m sorry,” Angela’s voice is hoarse, with real regret maybe, but also because she hasn’t been able to talk for this long for years. She wants to help her, because no one should be forced into isolation like this, without the chance to choose. Because wielders shouldn’t be feared more than other people. Because while they can wield a power other humans can’t even fathom, that power can be used for good too. “I want to help you,” she states, hesitantly, and Fareeha’s eyes snap in her direction. “I’m your best, if not your only, chance to go back to your life. That is, if you don’t try to kill me,” comprehension along with apprehension is dawning on dark umber eyes, Angela’s urge to leave is increasing by the second. “I can shift, but not for the same reason as you. I’m a magic wielder.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you didn't hate the AU, there will be more to this story. Thank you for reading!


End file.
